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Ogling bare-chested Nigerians. Collecting humorous beer koozies. Discovering a cask of worthless dab loons hidden inside the cave at Flopkins wharf. Gallons of hard alcohol, a new suitcase pilfered from a Korean Air turnstile each time our wardrobes or our spirits grew tired. It was easy spending that summer with you. Unfolding large bills in tiny unwashed bathrooms, using our eyes and our teeth to replenish silly tactile bits of life we knew we could never afford. I bought you a silver watch and set the alarm to 11:11pm, a time that we agreed was consistently superior to most other times of day. Bugs swarmed our tent, we relented, and found great comfort as alien ship bodies like whales swam above us. By September we realized the rumbling in our bellies would need to be addressed. I started pickling the earth elements around us and we put up a beautiful stock. You put dust and feathers into your loom. I tore pages out of books, finding details useless. We placed small deposits on custom dentures we wouldn't need for ages, but felt better about the prospect of cliff diving and crusty bread. Gypsies tempted us out of our clothes and out of the country. When I'd settled some, I sent a car around to collect our things...only to find I didn't have a car, or things. Some mix up I'm sure. I trust you'll have it sorted out in the new year.



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